


Suji

by maidboys



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Fantasizing, M/M, Pre-Canon, Stalking, Underwear Theft, Video Cameras, be the change you want to see in the world, non consensual picture taking, pregame, pregame ouma, pregame saihara, saihara likes fingers in his ass, stalker!ouma, you heard me right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-10 10:20:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14735129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maidboys/pseuds/maidboys
Summary: Ouma steals Saihara's boxers and jacks off in them.





	Suji

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for ouma's fantasy being dub-con and general ooc-ness. im being fueled entirely by Horny Power RN and am about to crash.

“Saihara-kun, how do you feel about characters like Komaeda or Tsumiki? The kind that seems kind-hearted but ends up being killers?” 

Saihara scrunched his nose in displeasure and looked away from his friend, “Komaeda was never the blackened, Ouma-kun, and comparing those two are like comparing apples and oranges. The only thing they really had in common was their low self-esteem.” 

Ouma’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh, right. Sorry, he was really manipulative and talked about murder so much, I forgot he never killed anyone.” 

“That’s a red flag that he isn’t going to kill anyone.” Saihara shrugged, “Either way, I guess I do. Any character that’s really into being the culprit is interesting enough.” A wide smile stretched across his previously apathetic face, “And I like being able to relate to characters, too.” His pale face was flushed pink and his clammy hands were clutching the black arm of a monokuma plush. “Yeah,” Saihara mumbled, speaking more to himself than to his friend. “If there isn’t a detective character, a bloodthirsty, sadistic character is the next best thing. The type to get really excited about their victim’s deaths, and when their plans are exposed, and, and…” He had almost broken a sweat just thinking about it.

Ouma was unable to tear his eyes away from Saihara, who was fortunately too wrapped up in his own head to notice his friend’s staring. “And when they make that expression, the one with the huge grin and upturned eyebrows and eyes rolling back into their heads… It’s almost like they’re, like they’re about to…”

Ouma exhaled loudly, not realizing he had been holding his breath. Saihara’s hazy eyes snapped towards the source of the noise and became frighteningly clear. He sat up and crawled closer to where Ouma was sitting on the bed, frozen in place. Saihara kept moving, his bright grey eyes sharp and predatory. The only thing separating the two boys was the brim of Saihara’s hat, which was digging into Ouma’s forehead at a sharp angle.  
“That expression they make, like they’re about to,” He could feel the heat of his breath with each word. If Saihara got any closer, Ouma was sure he would be sweating as much as his friend had been a moment ago. 

“Sai-Saihara,”  
“Ouma, do you want me to do something to you?”  
“I-I…”  
“Do you want me to fuck you?”

Ouma opened his mouth to say something when Saihara suddenly stood up from his bed and stretched. He mumbled something about going to change and hastily picked out clothes from his dresser, and then walked out the door with a poorly concealed smirk on his lips. 

“...stupid…” Ouma mumbled to himself and scratched at the bandages on his fingers. He stood up from the bed and sorted through the mess Saihara made of his own clothes, picking out the dirty ones and organizing the clean ones. He cleaned the trash off his friend’s floor and threw it into the garbage after making sure he had put away anything that could be valuable. Ouma packed up his school bag and made his way to the apartment’s door. 

He passed by the bathroom and pushed his ear to the door and the back of his phone to the keyhole. He contemplated knocking to tell Saihara he was leaving, but decided against it and left him a note instead. 

After Ouma had closed the front door, he flicked through the blue and black blur of his camera roll and sighed at his most recent photo, a blurry image of Saihara fully clothed in his bathroom. “Saihara-kun is really so stupid.” 

He slid his phone back into his schoolbag and zipped it up carefully, making sure none of the used straws or tissues he had collected from his friend’s apartment fell out.

 

Ouma greatly preferred living alone to living with his family. Not only did the need for bandages and medical supplies drop significantly, he also got his own room and bathroom. Not to mention Ouma’s favorite room of all, the tiny storage room off to the side of his own bedroom. 

Ouma made sure to visit the storage room at least once a day. He tried to keep it as organized as possible, with one-third of it being dedicated to things Saihara had touched and two-thirds of it for pictures of Saihara. However, he had been running low on printer ink lately and wanted to save it for only the best pictures. 

_“This one is one of my favorites.”_ Ouma thought to himself as he gently tapped a glossy picture of Saihara sleeping in class. He was smiling slightly like he was having a sweet dream. His hat had fallen off onto the table, exposing the cute tuft of hair at the top of his head. 

He unzipped his bag and looked over his collection. Chewed up straws, soda bottles, coffee cans, many, many tissues, and a pair of boxers. Ouma couldn’t suppress his smile. He had been holding off on thinking about them the whole walk home but now he was free to do whatever he wanted to.

Once he was positive all traces of Saihara were emptied from his bag, he closed the door and blocked it with a stack of books and his desk chair. Then he shut his curtains and got into bed.

 

Ouma’s fantasy picked up where Saihara had left off. In his head, however, Saihara didn’t have the chance to run off. Ouma knew his friend was messing with him. Maybe he saw the hundreds of photos on his phone or caught him staring one too many times. Regardless of the way he had found out, Saihara knew Ouma had feelings for him, and while he clearly was not wrong, Ouma did not like that.

“ _An arrogant Saihara is really the worst kind of Saihara._ ” Ouma thought as he unbuttoned his pants and slid his hand below the waistband of his underwear. After being used up and thrown away like garbage so many times, Ouma had developed a knee-jerk reaction to being looked down upon. While in his heart of hearts he knew he would never hurt anyone no matter what they did to deserve it, he couldn’t help but fantasize about crushing those condescending gazes and doing something that would shock everyone who had ever thought of him as weak or as an easy target. 

In Ouma’s fantasy, he held tightly onto Saihara’s wrists, preventing him from running away. While he was taller than him, Saihara wasn’t much stronger than him. Ouma imagined pulling his friend forward into his lap, and wrapping his arms around his waist. Ouma rubbed the boxers up and down his cock as he thought about Saihara’s haughty expression breaking into a flustered red mess. Someone as morbid and shameless as Saihara shouldn't have anything to be proud of. Ouma would lean forward and press his lips to his ear in a kiss. He’d keep one hand on the nape of his neck and trail the other down towards his ass. 

“Saihara-kun,” Ouma pulled his pants down and ran his fingers over the cleft of his ass, eating up every one of his little shivers and trembles. “Do you remember the first time you touched yourself back here?” Saihara inhaled sharply and shook his head. “W-what the hell are you talking about,” He stuttered, “I’ve never-,” 

Ouma ran one knuckle over his hole, causing him to inhale sharply, effectively silencing him. “It was two months ago, wasn’t it? After the season 52 finale? And then, you did it a second time after reading that Celestia/Kirigiri doushinji.” Ouma smiled brightly. “It’s okay! I don’t think any less of you! I wouldn’t cut off my one and only friendship over something as insignificant as that.” His eyes glinted maliciously as he opened a bottle of lube with his other hand and let the cold substance drip down Saihara’s ass crack. Ouma smiled up at his wet, flushed face and lovingly watched the saliva seep out of the corner of his pretty pink lips.

“But you know how much I hate it when you lie to me.” 

Ouma thrust his fingers further into Saihara’s tight hole. Saihara buried his face in Ouma’s shoulder and bit into his shirt in an attempt to muffle the sounds he was making. 

“Aww. Saihara-kun is so much cuter when he’s embarrassed.” Ouma said in a condescending tone as he petted Saihara’s hair with his free hand. Saihara moved briefly out of his position to glare at him, before diving back into Ouma’s shoulder when he pushed his fingers into him further.

"How about this, I'll forgive you for lying to me if you forgive me for using cameras to spy on you, okay? If we pretend I'm the mastermind and you're a Danganronpa contestant, would that make you feel better?" 

“I fucking hate you,” Saihara said through clenched teeth. Ouma felt his heartbeat quicken outside of the fantasy, and he squirted more lube onto Saihara’s boxers as he stroked himself faster. 

“That’s good,” Ouma sighed heavily and licked the shell of Saihara’s ear. “I want you to.” He bit down on the soft cartilage of his helix. Saihara let out a breathy gasp into Ouma’s shoulder. 

Ouma could feel the spot dampening with Saihara’s saliva. Would it be too much to frame this shirt and hang it on the wall? Or maybe he could just cut out the piece where Saihara’s mouth had been and nail that up? Even if this was just a fantasy, Ouma couldn’t stop his imagination from running wild. 

However, his fantasy came back at full force, with Saihara pushing down on his fingers, trying to fuck himself, frustrated by Ouma’s lack of movement. 

“Wh-what are you doing, Saihara-kun?” 

Saihara smirked and withdrew from Ouma’s shoulder, glowering down at him with half-lidded eyes. 

“You do want to fuck me, don’t you? Hurry up and get on with it.” 

Despite his proud expression, Ouma knew Saihara was using every bit of his force to keep from stuttering or whimpering. It was clear to him that Saihara was doing everything he could to become the one in control.

"I just told you I don't like it when you lie to me. Acting like something you aren't is the worst form of lying." Saihara only rolled his eyes, even as the small tears prickling in the corners of his eyes betrayed his true feelings. 

Ouma’s smile faltered and grew tight. He sighed like a teacher would while dealing with a disobedient child. He stopped petting Saihara and dug his nails deep into his scalp, causing him to moan from the pain. He tugged at Ouma's hand and tried to pull it off, but was reduced to a mess of gasps and small sobs by the sharp jabs he was feeling.

"O-ouma-kun, please!"

Ouma released his hold on Saihara's hair. He traced a line from Saihara's head to the back of his neck and squeezed him there for good measure. Ouma looked at his hand and noticed the prickles of red underneath his nails. When he went back to continue stroking Saihara’s hair, he flinched. 

“Stop it,” Saihara whined, “Stop doing that to me.” Saihara raised his hand as if to lower the brim of his cap over his eyes, but dropped his hand when he remembered it was on the floor somewhere. Ouma laughed good-naturedly and resumed petting his head.

“Do you not like pain, Saihara-kun?” Saihara didn’t respond, so Ouma raked his nails over the still wet cuts on Saihara’s head. He saw him desperately biting his lower lip to keep from making a sound. His cheeks were puffed out, and it looked like he was pouting. _Adorable._

Saihara, unable to take the combination of pain and masochistic pleasure anymore, let out a groan that half of the way through turned into a breathy moan. He wrapped his legs around Ouma's waist and grinded into him, desperate for release. Ouma smiled sweetly and tugged Saihara's hair harder, maneuvering him into a wet kiss.  


Saihara pulled back and glared down at Ouma.

“I’ll kill you.”

The face that appeared in Ouma’s imagination was so perfect, he wished he could take a picture of it. He would blow it up and throw out all his other photos if he could somehow take this one image from his mind’s eye and keep it forever. 

“S-say that again.”

Saihara’s fierce glare, obscured my tears hanging off his long lashes, about to run down his cherry red cheeks. The tips of his canine teeth pressing into his soft, pink bottom lip, and the tiny stream of drool running down his chin. Ouma had never seen anything so beautiful. 

“I'll Kill You.”

He came.

 

Ouma stepped out of his bed and into his bathroom. He hand washed Saihara’s boxers, not wanting to contaminate them any further with his own cum. As the mess washed down the drain, Ouma pretended his inappropriate thoughts and desires were going down with it. 

_“It doesn’t matter what I think about, as long as I don’t actually do it.”_

__

__

_“But you want to do it, right? To see his face when you put your fingers inside of him? To feel his asshole around your cock? Feel his soft, wet mouth around your dick? Or see his cute eyes look up at you as you fuck his face?”_

_“I won’t ever do that.”_

_“You don’t want to see him bent over, begging for you to fuck him? Or on his knees with your cum running down his chin? Or riding you with your name cut into his thighs?”_

Ouma splashed water on his face and went back to bed, forcing this unforgivable personality to exist only in his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> tysm to kishi who beta'd my thirsty nonsense of a fic
> 
> Ouma's side room heavily inspired by this fanart: https://twitter.com/omaenosiri/status/926475966834077696


End file.
